


Acidic Heart

by nikkivfx



Category: Beetlejuice (1988), Beetlejuice (TV 1989), Beetlejuice - All Media Types, Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King
Genre: Blood, Blood and Injury, Drugging, Fluff, Gen, Self-Harm, psychedelics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-02-23 12:33:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23711563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nikkivfx/pseuds/nikkivfx
Summary: this is a wacky idea. a bit heavy, but sweet.
Relationships: Beetlejuice (Beetlejuice)/Original Character(s), Beetlejuice (Beetlejuice)/Reader, Beetlejuice (Beetlejuice)/You
Kudos: 27





	Acidic Heart

**Author's Note:**

> this is a wacky idea. a bit heavy, but sweet.

Your eyes snapped open and you jerked awake with a small breath, immediately wincing at a sting between your thighs.

It was supposed to be a relaxing night. But you could not remember a thing.

~

The weekend started with you in a robe accompanied by a glass of red wine. You were too tense, so you decided to have some solitary time.

He had been watching you for weeks. You moved in here, oblivious to his presence, and he was fucking sick of it. Naturally, he took matters into his own hands, and stole drugs from the Netherworld that would get you off your ass. He took it once. Only once. The effects on him were… _fierce_. What could it do on breathers?

Oh boy, did he have a plan for you.

While you ran the bath, your glass was placed on the sink counter. He stood behind you, unbeknownst to you. You felt a chill touch your thighs as you bent over the tub, nothing unusual, you had felt random drafts since you moved in.

He opened his coat and pulled out the apothecary bottle. The puny-brown-dropper type. All that was depicted on it was a yellow smiley face. He attentively unscrewed it and took the dropper between his fingers. It hovered above your drink and he squeezed. When he saw the liquid _plop_ , he smirked. You didn’t notice, too occupied with the tub. He’ll only give two drops for now, and if that was not enough, perhaps he’d slip in a little more. He didn’t want to kill you, either. He tucked it back into his jacket pocket.

Finished running the bath, you stood up straight and reached for your wine. With the other hand you untied your robe and let it slip off your shoulders, and it hit the floor haphazardly. Sinking down into warmth, you let out a sigh of relief. Your hand lifted, and you sipped until the glass was finished.

Beetlejuice’s breath caught in his throat in anticipation. Quickly, you found that your eyes had started falling involuntarily, and soon you were lulled into sleep.

He panicked. Kneeling next to the bath, he spoke to you, “I haven’t killed ya, have I, doll?”

He examined your chest and released his own breath when he realized it was rising and falling with life.

“No, no you’re still breathin’. God, is it that strong?”

He gently clutched your face in both of his hands. His thumbs ran over your soft pink cheeks. He had admired you plenty of times, but this time was different. There was a flicker of hope somewhere in his gut that, maybe, finally, for the first time tonight: you would see him back.

“Such a pretty breather. No wonder why you wouldn’t want to see me. I don’t even know if this’ll work.” Strong hands let go of your head and he placed it gently against the wall. He laid on the floor next to you, arms folded on the edge of the tub, face resting atop them. He adored you further and waited.

~

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

Your heart was racing.

There was a sharp intake of breath, and your eyes opened. You were still while you looked around, your eyes the only things that were moving.

There were colors. Everywhere. They moved, changed. It felt like you were in a club with all those LED and strobe lights, just without the loud music. If anything, there was a deafening silence.

What the fuck? Was this some sort of fever dream? You weren’t panicking, it was almost like you forgot how to. You felt alarmingly calm while your mind raced.

Suddenly, your heart slowed, or felt like it did. Everything moved in slow motion, and you brought your hands up to your eyes to examine them. There was a distortion to your perception, and even though it felt like your hands were directly in front of your face, they were considerably far from you. Your wine glass was in your reach, but when you reached for it you overestimated how far it was, and knocked it off the ledge, shattering it all over the floor. It took you a few seconds to understand what happened.

“Fuck,” you muttered.

While looking over the edge, you saw a black toe of a shoe. Was it a shoe? Your eyes followed what it was connected to, then you saw stripes. A black and color-changing striped suit, any color you could think of-

Then your eyes landed on his face. His expression was unyielding, but his eyes told you something different.

You spoke first.

“Hello,” you said, sort of welcoming, but cautious. You weren’t frightened by him, mostly confused, “Who are you?”

His eyes widened. The irises were gold, glittery. He looked slightly shocked.

“Hi,” he rasped, “How are you feeling?” Your head tilted to the side, staring at him in a silent inquiry. What was wrong with his voice? Did he know you weren’t normal right now? Is that moss on his skin?

You spoke slowly and softly, “I’m okay, I guess. I think- I think I’m tripping. I don’t remember buying drugs. Are-Are you always so colorful?”

“Not particularly, babes. Are you relaxed?”

Your heart sped at his declaration, as if it was reminded of the state you were in. Your eyes rolled back, and you focused on breathing. You were not a body, only a head. If you did have a body, it was floating elsewhere.

This was his opening. He would simply point to the edge of the tub, and the razor would appear. Harmless. It would either calm you or worsen your frame of mind. After that, it was your decision what you wanted to do with it.

When your heart was steady again, your eyelids parted. There was a glint in your peripheral, and you turned your head to meet its persisting gleam. The silver on the tub’s lip was unblemished, shining like no razor you have seen before.

Was that there the whole time? Since when do you keep razors laying around? You were not a stranger to self-harm, but when was the last time you even _thought_ about doing it?

Still, your head tilted as your hand reached for it. You thought your hand should have been touching it already, but it was a few more inches out of your grasp. Beetlejuice studied the intent look on your face, careful not to perturb you. Fingertips met silver, and it chilled you up to your elbow. However, the chill did not dissuade you on picking it up. The amplified feeling spurred you on further.

You clutched it in your fingers, making sure it was secure, then brought it closer and closer to your skin, and-

_Slice._

Your upper arm was cut open. Not too deep, but more than a scratch.

The sensory distortion made this barely painful, but the first slice was still a shocking and relieving release.

You did not flinch. If anything, tension left your body through a spout at your feet, diffused into the water around you.

The blood dripped down your arm in a cartoonlike matter. At least that’s how it looked to you. For him, it was almost a blood kink, but he was entranced by it more than anything. The blood dripping down your pretty and lively skin. It made him feel high. And of course, he couldn’t let you trip all by your lonesome.

You heard your heartbeat in your ears. With every heavy _pound_ of it, another drip of blood trickled down to your elbow and into the bathwater.

Sitting back, you spread your legs and brought the razor between them. Touching your thigh, another _slice_. The blood started to bead, and you pushed your leg underneath the surface and watched as it painted the water red. The water swirled and ebbed, and you continued to pepper little scratches on yourself, occasionally stopping to watch your blood dance.

Your eyes were brought back to Beetlejuice. He must have gotten to his knees beside the tub while you were distracted, probably. He stared, entranced, hypnotized. If you looked hard enough, you could swear his eyes had turned into spirals. He feigned breath to release the sensations he felt.

Bright-eyed, you spoke to him.

“Would you like a turn?” You don’t know why you were so comfortable with this stranger. Maybe because you felt in your soul, he was not malevolent. Or maybe, you just wanted to be foolish.

His pupils were blown wide, with nothing left than a thin rim of gold around them. They glittered as they considered you.

“Yes,” he rumbled, “May I?”

Holding out the razor to him was enough. He gently removed it out of your fingers and gripped it in his own. He leaned over the edge of the tub and with his other hand, he reached around you, and clutched you on the back. Your face was mere inches from his. It was intimate, sensual. Physically, he shouldn’t have been able to do this. You both would have toppled into the water. But maybe he grew another hand or two while you weren’t looking.

Until this moment, you forgot you were naked. As he held you up, his eyes raked down further and further, breath growing heavier as he went. You watched him all the while, as his long lashes flicked and brows furrowed with an emotion you couldn’t identify in your state.

He brought the razor to your form. His eyes went back up to yours again, silently asking for permission. You breathed out; chest heavy with want. Your eyes told him yes. _Yes, please._

The razor pierced your sternum. It was not a slice, though. It was more like he was trying to draw something into your skin. With each cut, you shuttered in his arm. With a thumb, he swiped your beading blood away, cleaning his canvas. It stung when touched.

When he was finished, he dropped the razor into the tub beneath you, and gathered water into his fingers. He brought his hand above your chest and let it drip your blood away. The first drip shocked you, and every one after felt like electricity through your body.

He was done, and now both his hands held you fast. He marveled at the treasure in his arms.

You started blinking slowly, the beginnings of you falling asleep. He ran a hand kindly on your face. _Oh. That felt nice._ His pointer finger ran down the bridge of your nose, and eventually his gentle touch was shutting your eyes for you. He softly put you to sleep, shushing you as he went.

~

The source of the stinging came from different points of your body. Sitting up as lightly as you could, you blinked yourself more awake. It was dark outside, nothing but the streetlamps illuminating your bedroom. You smelled clean.

Oh god, you couldn’t remember anything. What was in your mind last?

A bath. You went to take a bath. You took sips of your wine, and-

That’s it. Now you were in bed.

You went to go examine the pain, but were met with skillful wound dressings all over you.

You were out of it, weren’t you? Maybe you relapsed while wine drunk? That doesn’t explain why your mind was a clean slate. And it was only one glass!

You were patched up so good. You were never this intent with aftercare. There was only one thing you did not cover up though, and it was between your breasts.

None of the cuts were put anywhere you could not hide. Inner thighs, upper arms, one on your hip. None of them were severe, all were minor and would be healed within a week. Seems even wacked out of your mind, you still had the head to not make the slices perceptible.

It was supposed to be a relaxing night. But you could not remember a thing.

And the only proof of him remaining was the small, delicate beetle carved onto your sternum.


End file.
